50 States of Chains
by hungary4prussia
Summary: 2p USAxCAN fanfic. Alfred F. Jones, or Al, is a young musician traveling to find his voice as well as fulfill his never ending sexual desire. He is always the master, and women are easily swayed. When a trip on business to Canada finds him face to face with Matthieu Williams, a successful producer and CEO of a label, Al doesn't know what to do; when the master becomes the slave.
1. Troubled Child

**1. Troubled Child  
**

Sunrise, creepin' in your eyes  
Cold empty side walks  
Miles away from trustin' someone  
Far from giving up  
Young blood, cry tough  
Mean street run  
There's a hunger inside you  
Desperate rebel runaway  
Far from giving up  
Someday, someway, all very soon  
You'll end, long nights  
Chasin' the moon  
War with yourself  
Makes you feel better  
Caught behind the lines  
Troubles child  
Faith finds a cure  
It makes you feel better  
You know you can shine  
Troubled child  
Voices echo, from the past  
Decisions made for you  
Trials they made  
To touch your heart  
Never found their way...

Chains...the feeling of metal grinding against my skin pressing through to bone...I grinned in the sickest of manners. This was my playground. This was my escape. As every shattered breath enters and exits though...a piece of me drifts away and I can't...I can't. I stop. She stares. I shake my head and lift the blindfold. She unties. I come undone in my heart. She backs away hiding in her black hair. I pull on boxers and look over the cityscape before me.

To the one who's heart beat echoes mine...Fuck you...You have me bound...tied...land locked...Caught in a web of chains. That's right...chains...the sickest metaphor...the only metaphor I have for the emotion called love. The dawn breaks. I hate the sunrise. It means more living, another day...another innocence to take or play with...but with the dawn comes color into my grey world. So many shades of colors. I wait for the one that stops my breathing and holds my heart. FUCK. Those chains. They burn. Like the fire red sky now. I burn.

Chains are made of metal. But even at some point of heat...metal...can be melted down...remolded...reshaped...reused...replaced?  
No.

Men are of steel, I am of a strong heart...but my simple organ of a heart...can be broken by a pair of piercing eyes such as those...That clearly states I'm weak...Chains...I smile...To find the one to break them...Now there's the reason I get up every morning, fuck like a whore, look and listen to those hearts and eyes...but I'm disappointed every time. I've been to all 50 states and all the chains are the same...they are weak...they break...but today...I had no idea...a journey outside a state line...could end me...

Chains...They are my favorite thing to play with...and my worst enemy for my locked heart...My name is Alfred F Jones, Al for short...and today...my life will change.


	2. To Play Some Music

Oh goodness! So sorry for the wait! I am working on Guardian tomorrow if anyone wishes to know!

**2. To Play Some Music**

Say everybody  
And everyone  
We've been waitin', so very long  
To play some music  
And have some fun

Bring some happiness to everyone  
Well come with us and try and learn  
What's on your mind  
Open your ears and eyes and let's see what you can find  
You're not so different, I don't mean to be unkind  
Something's unfolding if you really take the time

So let the sun shine  
It's just begun  
You've given all you could to anyone  
Well don't you lose it  
Don't run away  
It's getting stronger, day after day

You're sittin' there, you say you're  
Waiting for the show  
And what you have, and what you  
Hear is what you really want to know  
You've only come here 'cause here's  
Nowhere else to go  
We're only sorry, that we have  
To end the show.

Play some music  
Play some music...

I glared out the plane window as we circled the Toronto skyline. I groaned. My music career was on a snapping point and we had to travel all the way to fucking Canada to seek out a label. Barf. I didn't care how good this producer was; I wanted to be with an American label. Hello to the big guns with money! I'm an AMERICAN! How would my fans react to Alfred F. Jones: Fallen Rock Icon Falls at Canada's Feet Begging for Label? No, no they wouldn't like that.

I could feel the plane descend and my stomach lurched. I was so not like my brother who did this shit for a living. As it felt as though we were falling from the sky, I closed my eyes and thought of the night I had had. I smiled. Her name was Julie, and I'd never see her again, but my God her rack was just so –

"Al, we're here," I heard my manager, or as I liked to call him "handler" above me and the next thing I felt was a smack on my head. I looked up at the scowling British man. His tired blue eyes bore down into my skull and I gave him a puppy pout.

"But she had great boobs, Oliver, like so -" I felt another smack on the back of my head and I begrudgingly got up.

"Honestly, how they compare you to Steve Perry is beyond me," he grumbled as he walked towards the front of the plane.

"Hey! Steve Perry, I amazing, okay," I slung my messenger bag over my shoulder and donned my shades, "Journey is a band to be honored, not de-maned. Understand that we accepted the fuckin' Beetles, bro. Why can't you just like what I like?" I caught up to him and started doing what I did best; annoy him.

"Because," he glances out of the corner of his eye, "The Beetles had class."

I watched him walk away my mouth agape, "Hey! Steve wore coattails; he brought class to the stage! Huh? What, hey wait," I realized he wasn't stopping for my monologue and I followed him off the plane.

A group of screaming girls welcomed me as soon as I stepped onto the stairs to the tarmac. I smiled and waved. This was the best part. All of these gorgeous women. All good enough to – I felt Oliver's hand grab my arm and he ushered me away from them.

"Aw, come on," I grumbled.

"I already have to get you tested for shit once a month, really Alfred; your sexual habits are horrid."

"So I do what and who I want," I lifted my shades as soon as we were in the black car with tinted windows to head to the record label.

"One day, you'll find someone you do want and they won't want nor care about your emotions. Then you'll know how all your 'fan girls' feel when you use them and then dump them."

"I'm just helping some dreams come true," I smirk.

"I hope Karma unloads a few dozen rounds on you," his cool blue eyes stared a hole through me and we both fell silent. I stuck my head phones into my ears and turned it up. No matter how much I tried to disagree with him, Oliver was always…right. Every girl, every time, I just felt emptier. I was chasing something that was never going to be there. I snorted. I guess that's why I named my band Dawn Chaser. No matter where I went, I could never seem to catch that flaming ball of glory on the horizon. I couldn't touch the sun; I couldn't even get close enough to get warm. So there was no need for wings, or burnage of them. I'd rather freeze.

I watched Oliver click away at his palm pilot and make a few phone calls that I couldn't hear due to music. He finally slapped my leg and I jumped up, wiping the drool from my mouth.

"We're here," he said pulling an ear bud out, "Try to act like an adult. Your career is over if you fuck this up. Do you understand?"

The harshness in his voice takes me back for a second, and I just nod, "Yea, I get it." I hated being reminded of the dire situation my band and I were in. It was my fault too. I had a hot temper, and apparently labels didn't like fly-off-the-handle divas.

We were obviously in downtown Toronto and the building we were in front of was tall. Not as tall as my home city of NYC's buildings, but still, tall. I leaned back to look up.

"We're going all the way to the top, well, second to last floor. Mr. Williams lives on the final floor's pent house." Oliver opened the door for me and I stepped in.

Mounted Records was a young company, hell, the dude in charge was a year younger than I was and five times more loaded. I groaned. I hated getting older. Not that twenty-four was old, but if this ass hat was a dick, we'd have an issue.

"Hi and welcome to Mounted Records, Mr. Williams is expecting you Mr. Jones," a very chipper, brunette met us from behind the counter, "If you would please follow me." She turned and was wearing a bright red pencil skirt and I looked down eagerly. Did I say chipper? I meant perky. I felt a tug at the back of my shaggy reddish-brown hair, snapping my neck up, averting my eyes. I growled and glowered at Oliver from over my shoulder. Did he never look at women?! It was a frustrating secret that mans slow climb towards celibacy. Either that or he was gay. I laughed inwardly.

"Whatever absurd thought just crossed your pea sized brain, get it out of there and focus, wanker," we piled into the elevator and Oliver had leaned over to whisper in my ear.

"Sure, sure," I waved him off.

When the elevator opened Ms. Perky Butt led us past an office bustling with people on phones and pushing papers to a mahogany back wall covered in Gold, Silver, and of course, Platinum records. There was a large door that sat in the center of this wall that had stated on a brass plaque: Mathieu Williams, CEO. I rolled my eyes, the spelling, so he was a French Canadian…fun.

"Mr. Williams, your appointment has arrived," Ms. Perky Butt opened the large door and Oliver and I stepped inside. The office was huge, with a panoramic view of Toronto. I had to shut my mouth. The furniture was very modern and chic. Black, red, and silver were for sure a color scheme. The sunlight that was coming through the window I had to squint away from. Having a genetic disorder that not only makes you look like a blood eyed demon, but light sensitive, was a pain in the ass. In my squint I caught a flash of gold. I focused on it and a tall, slender man was starting to stand from his desk. He wore his Aviators on inside though. I fought the urge to lower my Spies but Oliver would kill me.

"Thank you Ms. O'Brian," a slightly husky, yet easy tone floated into my ear. I looked at him again and he was lighting a cigarette. I swallowed. Oh man, did I hate my recent break from rehab right now.

"Not a problem Mr. Williams," Ms. Perky Butt O'Brian waltzed out of the room but I didn't look at her. Mr. Big Shot was motioning for us to sit in the two huge leather chairs in front of his desk.

"So, you, Alfred F. Jones and the Dawn Chasers, are looking for a new label. Tell me, why did Interscope drop you?" He folded his hands in plain view. I snorted and Oliver shot me a deadly look. I cleared my throat.

"I had some, issues, but they are resolved now, Mr. Williams," I was trying to size him up. He seemed to have a cool, almost cold outside layer. I wished I could see his eyes, I was good at reading assholes. Takes one to know one and all.

"Ah, yes, the drugs. All clean and sober now?" He started rocking back in his chair.

"Yea, yea I am," I bit back a growl.

"I want you to play something for me."

"Excuse me?"

"I didn't stutter Mr. Jones. I would like you to play something for me."

"I brought a demo tape with me," I reached for my bag but I was cut off.

"No, I want you to play, an original piece on that piano over there." He pointed to a black grand piano in the center of the room. I had just moved him from Mr. Big Shot to Mr. D-Bag.

"Why would you be interested in my client's original music? He has a band sir," I heard Oliver try to cut in. I was feeling, out of place. I hadn't played an original piano piece since college. I had dropped out after the first semester.

"Oh I am aware of that group of sorry excuse for musicians," I saw a sarcastic smile play at the corner of his stone lips. That was it.

"They are my sorry excuse for musicians! At least they play and create music, while you sit back here and bark orders from your throne! Excuse me, Mr. Williams or Mr. Mounted Records, but I come with my band or else I don't come at all." I slammed my hands down on his desk, my strange eyes burning into him. I felt the heat of my anger flow through me. He hadn't moved an inch; instead I could see his dark pupils locked with mine through the Aviators. I was going to die by the hands of Oliver. I had blown it. Fuck.

"Mr. Jones," Mr. D-Bag slowly reached up and took his glasses off, "I have heard you play original pieces before," He looked up at me with an even stare. I felt my eyes widen and my body didn't just go numb, it, heated up. When normally I would freeze, I melted. Those cool even eyes were a pale lavender color, so unique and yet, my mind went to the sunrise. That color.

"Mr. Jones, are you alright?" I looked at him again coming to my senses.

"Yes, I ugh…how have you heard my own music?" I tried coming down to Earth, but fuck gravity. I gripped the desk. I'm sure Oliver would demand an explanation.

"I have my ways, now, please, would you play?" For a moment, his eyes softened and my stomach lurched. What the hell was this?

"Of course," I walked over to the piano and sat down and dug into my memory bank. I selected a slower paced song with a blues feel. The chords came flooding back as did the lyrics;

_One more round before I go, Just another sinner on an open free road, I'll take my chances, I'll dance the dance, Looking for that one who don't exist, I know those lips aren't the answer, But one more kiss can't hurt, Bitter sweet lies, I have to find my piece of mind, beyond the damned morning sky…_

The music kept me going. I felt Oliver's eyes on my back. Oh yea, lots of explaining to do. When I stopped I stared at the keys but felt movement behind me. A hand leaned on the piano and he was right beside me.

"I enjoy your playing, Mr. Jones, please, I am willing to cut a contract with you, but you have to be willing to make some…sacrifices."

My throat tightened, he was right in my ear. I didn't hear it before, but the slight French accent was there. He smelled the exact opposite of what I expected. He smelled like woods, campfire, and, was that unexplainable sweet ending?

"My band comes or I go," I choked out.

"That's fine, they can come, but…I was talking only on your part. I would like to speak with you, away from anyone else, if we could, please, Mr. Jones?" I looked up and my eyes met his lavender ones again. I had never felt like this, what was it about this guy? Was I intimidated? My eyes wandered to his lips and he seemed to follow my gaze. A crooked smile crossed his stoic face and my heart rate sped up. Shit.

"I will see you in an hour, here," he slipped a piece of paper from his pale, slender hand to my darker toned one and whispered, "Vous avez un secret n'est-ce pas, Mr. Jones?"

My breathing caught in my chest. I knew French. Did I have a secret? No. No I was sure I didn't. Was I?


	3. Line of Fire

**Here is the new update! Hope you enjoy! I think I should explain. My visuals for Mathieu and Al are from Spacedrunk and Shadzu's design. Some times there will be quotes that are directly from Spacedrunk because they fit perfectly for his fic. I will give credit where credit is due. All of the titles of the chapters are Journey songs and song lyrics. This is a fanfic based off of Fifty Shades of Grey and 2ptalia, though I think AMER/CAN works better than Ana Steele and Christian Grey! :P **

**3. Line of Fire **

It was a hot and steamy night,  
Then Frankie pulled his gun in sight.  
He said, "Now Suzi, don't you lie.  
Did Stevie, did he catch you with another guy?"  
Standing in the line of fire it's gonna shoot ya.  
Standing in the line of fire it's comin' to ya,  
It's goin' through ya.

He told her that he had been true,  
And that he'd never made her blue, no.  
So don't go sayin' Stevie's a liar,  
Girl, I've got my finger on a hair-trigger wire.  
Standing in the line of fire it's gonna shoot ya.  
Standing in the line of fire it's comin' to ya,  
It's goin' through ya.  
Bye, bye, bye, Suzi.  
So long girl.

Those gunshots echoed through the town.  
Oh Frankie threw his shotgun down.  
That roof had moonlight shinin' through.  
She said she'd never, never, never, make him blue, yea.  
Standing in the line of fire it's gonna shoot ya.  
Standing in the line of fire it's comin' to ya,  
Standing in the line of fire it's gonna shoot ya.  
It's goin' through ya.  
Bye, bye, bye, Suzi.  
So long….

I walked out of the office in silence. Oliver didn't say anything until we were back in the car and on our way to the hotel. For the first time since I almost overdosed three years ago, he sounded concerned.

"Alfred, are you, alright? You seemed, shaken up there."

"Yea I'm fine old man," I forced a smile but on the inside my mind was reeling. What was that? Do I have a secret? Fuck that. What did I have to hide? I lived my ups and downs across E! TV and tabloids, I had no secrets. I shoved my ear buds back into my ears and settled against the seat. I took out the piece of paper that he had handed me.

_Meet me at the Rose Café, ask for Mathieu. I look forward to seeing you, Mr. Jones. _

_ MW _

I swallowed hard to myself. The first creepy thing about him was his cool aura. No one was that stoic, not even Oliver. Second thing that was creepy was he also wore his sunglasses inside…not something normal people do. I have an excuse, bright lights hurt like hell. Third, he knew I played piano. He had heard my original works? I watched Oliver talk on the phone with someone his mouth moving but the only voice I heard was Ron Popes singing _You're the Reason I Come Home_. Fourth, his eyes. I leaned my head back and closed my own. I saw him stare me down. The unique, color of lavender. The clarity in them as if he saw beyond my façade. The softness when he asked me to play. His smell. I groaned inwardly. I wasn't gay. No freaking way was I _gay_. I was in a new place, fresh out of rehab and so far had only one lay. _Not_ gay, sex deprived.

I played with the red cord connecting to my iPod. Even though I felt the same emptiness inside after every girl it hadn't stopped me yet. No matter how assertive they were, or how submissive, they were no fun. I did it as a means to an end. To escape. To release…something.

"We're here," Oliver once again pulled out an ear bud, but his voice was gentler this time. He knew when I was upset. I hated how he knew, and then I appreciated it.

"Thanks," I gave him a small smile and crawled out of the car and followed him into the lobby where a young man was waiting to take us to our room. We were whisked up an elevator to what looked like a pent house.

"Holy shit," I breathed when the elevator doors opened and the space before me was an open floor plan. It was the cityscape that got me. It reminded me of my city. I pressed my nose to the window and fought a feeling of slight homesickness.

"When you meet Mr. Williams later, you should thank him. This whole stay is on him," Oliver was already heading towards a room. He always claimed his bed first. I had gotten used to it so I let him.

"That's in," I looked at my phone, "an hour." Could I really do a business meeting without Oliver? The only time I had I hadn't been sober. It turned out okay. Not that I remembered a thing.

"Well don't be late," I heard him close his door.

"Sure…" I muttered out loud and I dropped my bag. I took off my sunglasses and tried to squint into the sun. It hurt after about a minute.

"Fuck…always in the line of fire…" I took out the piece of paper again. I was actually going to go meet this guy?

* * *

The Rose Café was just a walk around the block from the hotel we were staying at. Everyone seemed nice enough. They smiled as I walked by, half of them I'm sure not knowing who I was. I had on my signature leather jacket with the red 50 across the back with the zero slashed out. Call it a cult symbol. Call it a signal flare.

It was, nice, quiet, had lots of water features, and of course, roses. I walked to the front counter and met a smiling redhead.

"Hello and welcome to the Rose Café, how may I be of service? Sir?"

"Ah, I'm here to see Mathieu," I handed her the paper. She stared at me her bright smile turning into shock and then her lips turned into a smug smirk.

"Follow me Mr. Jones." She came around the counter and led me to a back room.

"Umm, is he really back here?" I was starting to wonder if this guy was associated with any gangs I had pissed off back home in the city.

"No, he's down here," she opened the black door that I thought was a closet, but the dub step I heard and the lights flashing, not to mention the people's screaming and laughing in full party mode proved me wrong.

"Is this a…." I followed her into the underground.

"An underground club, yes, Mr. Jones. Mr. Williams only invites his, _closest_, friends down here," there was her smirk again.

"How close would you say his friends were to him, per say?" I made a slight thinking face and she laughed.

"Not many, but," she let her finger run down my chest, "Those who do come, never leave the same."

"Oh," I quickly forced a smile as she led the way again. I took off my glasses and was staring into one of the most upscale clubs I had ever been in. Complete with strippers. I nodded in approval; hot strippers.

"Right this way," she led me to an obvious VIP section. That's when I saw Mr. D-Bag. He was sitting with his arms slung around two black haired girls; twins, how quaint. He had his shades on low so he could watch the stripper giving them a private showing on their table. A group of men were on either side. I recognized some heavy hitters from other industries from around the world. I swallowed hard. This guy was a high roller.

"Mr. Williams, Mr. Jones is here," the redhead presented me with a flourish and then was gone. He looked up at me from over his Aviators. Was this guy for real? His pants were black, not skinny jeans, I felt less sorry for his boys, and a tucked in white shirt that was unbuttoned half way showing pale skin, and something else. I squinted to try and see what it was but he moved. On his move I opened my mouth but he held a long finger out to silence me. Why I complied I'll never know. He continued to stare at me before lazily snapping his fingers and everyone got up and left. The twins gave me a snarky look and I sneered at them.

"Mr. Jones, please, sit," I watched him motion to someone I didn't see and a glass of red wine was placed in front of me.

"Thanks," I nodded to the cute waitress. I felt his eyes on me. It felt, cold. I looked back to see him lighting a cigarette. His hair was longer than I thought. He had it pulled back, and he wasn't clean shaven. He didn't look like someone who was a multi-millionaire. We sat in silence for a moment before I shrugged my leather jacket off. The body heat off the dance floor was like a steam room. I was wearing a simple black v-neck T with washed out jeans. Nothing fancy. My hair was slightly shaggy, with one stubborn piece that liked to hang out on its own.

"So why did you bring me here?" I yelled over the music. He shifted his eyes to me leaning back and motioning to the girl again. She smiled and shut a thick curtain around us and I immediately felt cooler. It was as if the air conditioner kicked on.

"Sorry I didn't catch that," he sipped his wine.

"Why did you bring me here?" I repeated feeling annoyed, and a little uneasy.

"Why did I bring you here," he mulled over the question leaning his head back and sinking lower in his seat. I raised an eyebrow.

"Uhhh," I shook my head and took a swig of wine.

"What was that, Mr. Jones?" His tone was dangerous.

"UH, nothin' I mean, well," I snorted and waved my hand towards him, "Is that an acceptable way for a CEO to sit?"

His eyes narrowed, "It is a perfectly acceptable way to sit, Mr. Jones," his tone implied I stop smiling, so I did. Fuck. Why did this guy bother me?

"I brought you here to sign a contract."

My head snapped up, "Really?"

"That is, if you have thought about living with some, sacrifices."

"Yea, yea, sure whatever. Bring it, come at me bro, let's just sign so we both can get paid," I was like a little kid. I had to restrain myself. Signing with this label could be the fresh start I needed; that my guys needed.

"Very well then," with another snap of his fingers a pen and thick stack of papers were put in front of me and he sat back up leaning over his knees.

"Where do I sign," I grabbed the silver pen.

"Read it first."

"Its just legal shit, I mean -"

"READ IT."

I looked back up at him and I growled.

"I've signed millions of these."

"Not like mine," his harsh whisper with the twisted accent sent a shiver down my spine. Our eyes locked. He was challenging me. I could tell. Something was in this contract that I would probably not enjoy.

"Easy there killer, fine, I'll read," I rolled my eyes and started sifting through. The first fifteen pages were normal contract, song, lyric, and other copyrighted information and basic legal jargon. The next fifteen, were not so normal.

"A dieting plan? Um, I'm sorry to break it to you, but I am a Vegan," I gave him an exasperated look.

"I know," a smirk played at the corners of his mouth, "It's tailored just for you."

"How did you…"

"I have my ways."

"Exercise! No fucking way, I'm fine," I flushed a little. Rehab does shit to your body. I knew that.

"You're too skinny. We need to bulk you up just a little," the smirk was getting harder for him to conceal.

"You are an ass hole."

"And you are a dick."

My mouth thinned in a line, "Are you fucking serious?"

"Does it look like it?" His eyebrow arched.

"Fuck me," I snarled and got back to reading. I heard him mutter something in French and I ignored it. I flipped the page and read. The lower I got the more pale I'm sure I was becoming. When I looked up he was smoking another cigarette casually.

"What did you say about fucking, Jones?" He didn't look at me.

"This is a joke right?" My throat was tight. I was not reading this contract right. This was a bad, bad joke. His slowly turned his head back to me and took off his sunglasses. He had lines under his eyes from what looked like lack of sleep but his face held strong features. Those eyes, they pierced me. The color. The shade. It felt as though he had a collar around my neck and I was transfixed on…dare I make the crazy metaphor…of my new…owner? Fucking chains.

"No." His voice was firm, but soft.

"Do you make contracts like this with everyone?" My pulse rose.

"No."

"Am I the only one?" I needed to go.

"No."

"Am I the only guy?" I didn't want the answer. He hesitated.

"Not the only guy, but within this agreement and industry, yes."

My eyes widened, "Why me?"

It was his turn to pause.

"Why me?" I pressed.

It would be the first honest answer I got from him, and the confidence in his eyes and body language wavered, "I don't know."

My world stopped. What he was asking for…What this could do for my band and me, but this? I was in the line of fire. The only question, I needed to answer was from the statement the redhead had mentioned earlier; "_Those who do come, never leave the same._"

Would I leave the same?

Slowly…I felt the heat closing in on me. Under his icy stare…my world was beginning to burn.

* * *

NOTE: World burning: Spacedrunk...go look it up...its to epic not to on tumblr

The sitting conversation...from Ask 2p Canada aka Spacedrunk


	4. Hustler

**Sorry sorry! Long time I know! This was fun to write! Hope you like! And Oliver is based after Beekwhys 2p!England~**

* * *

**3. Hustler **

I get beside women all men desire,  
Crazy with passion I'll never be tired,  
Money's no good to me 'cause lovin's my game,  
I don't need no trouble and I'll show you no pain.  
I move like a lover, so silent and swift,  
Screamin' women love me, just can't resist  
I can't be bought, your payoff's no good,  
So lock up your women, like you know you should.

My eyes were locked on his for a solid thirty seconds or so before I broke away and ran a hand through my hair. This was too crazy. I felt the bass start to keep pace with my heart.

The lights flashing through the curtain was making me see things. I felt, dizzy. I rubbed my head some more trying to clear my mind. Then it hit me…I knew this feeling…I had forced it on myself many times. I turned to see Mathieu was sitting right next to me and my haze was growing. Could I really believe that a man could be beautiful?

The DJ threw down a Laid Back Luke track, Show Me Love. I snorted, how fitting. I put my hand between us as my eyes crossed. He stopped and waited for me.

"I need a minute," my words were slurred. Yup. He had slipped something in that wine. I knew it. The way my heart thudded, and me fresh out of rehab…fuck.

"That's fine," his breath was so close to my neck my skin tingled and my body shivered in response. I could hear his lips turn into a smile.

"Don't say it," I whispered afraid and vulnerable in this state.

"You have a secret." He said it anyway. I tried to growl, but it came out as a whimper. I felt his hand on my wrist and he stood me up.

"Where we goin'," I blinked hard twice as the shift in gravity jarred my head.

"Dance floor. We should finish talking business," I didn't have the know-how to protest.

The sounds hit me again and the lights disoriented me and I winced as the strobes hit. I felt a pair of glasses lower over my eyes and I watched his face flicker with concern for just a moment.

"Thanks," I mumbled.

"Any time," he smirked. Did this man have a soul? Oh crap, was he the Devil? Ugh, my brain wasn't working. The people watched and stared at me as we entered the dance floor. The bass was rumbling through my body and I swore I could see the music in the lights reverberating off the people, walls, and mirrors. It was a blur. The high. I felt his hands guide my hips. I chuckled inwardly. This guy underestimates a NYC former club King. I moved them on my own and I heard him gently laugh to himself.

"So business, what about it?" I asked my Brooklyn accent taking over. I had to admit, it could get very thick at times so I was shocked that he could understand me.

"Very simple; I wish to sign you, as long as you can come up with your own music. Nothing that lead guitar player of yours writes, it sucks." His lips brushed my ear. I was starting to notice a trend in the dancers next to us. Boy and boy girl and girl, the occasional boy and girl…or were they really…my head hurt.

"So, you want me to write shit again," I mumbled inhaling as the breakdown came in the song and my eyes closed breathing his unusual scent in.

"Yes, I do."

"Mrghhh, why," I hesitantly put my hands on his waist and at feeling his muscles beneath me tense, I pulled him closer. Let's see how he does when he's lost control…to me…a Master. I smirked as I watched his eyebrows raise and his eyes flicker over my face.

"Because I enjoy your music, Alfred. It's pure, unlike you," I heard his French dialect wrap around my full name like silk. He was so close, smelled so good, damn it. He wasn't shying away anymore. I felt something under his shirt, another shirt? Something was there. I tightened my grip to try and figure is out but he snapped me out of that idea when his hips became flush with mine and the beat picked up again. We were dancing.

"Damn," I whispered swallowing hard. He had to be at least an inch taller than I was. More reasons to hate him. And he was younger. Reason number two. I probably had fifty reasons to hate this guy grinding me like some bitch in heat. I swallowed hard, but, my hands wandered up his strong back and then back down to above his ass.

"Do you like what you feel?" His cheek was resting slightly higher on my own. If I looked out of the corner of my eye, I could see his lips smirking. I thinned my mouth out and ignored the feeling in my gut.

"I don't know what to feel, you fucking drugged me."

"Oh Alfred, just to loosen you up, though, if you accept my offer," his lips ducked out of view and I gasped in shock. His mouth was on my neck; his mouth was on my neck. Oh good shit. I counted to ten, "I'll have you loose in no time."

I sneered and swallowed again, "Fuck you."

"I would be very happy to allow that to happen."

"You are a sick, twisted man my friend."

"You are just as sick and twisted…Mr. M."

"Mr. M?" His violet eyes reappeared in front of my face and I was practically snarling," What the fuck does that mean?"

He blinked slowly lifting the side of my shirt and pressing on my hip bone. I groaned unexpectedly and his eyes lit up. On the next press, I felt his nail and I tried to growl, but it came out like a purr. This guy…he knew…I watched his face revel in my secret.

"You will become the M…to my S…" He stopped pressing and left my hip alone, but my body was screaming more. WHY?!

"You think I'm a masochist? You're so wrong…I love tying _girls_ up…" I tried to stand straighter, but it was hard on the dance floor. We were too close together.

"Hmm…Liar…Your secret fantasy, is right in front of you," I felt his fingers gently brush under my chin. I tried to pull away. "Don't," he whispered. I felt the glasses protecting the fear and doubt in my eyes rise above my head and his hands lightly caressed my face.

"Stop…please," I managed to croak out.

"But you don't want me too."

"Yea, yes I do."

"Sign the contract; we don't have to move fast, I can be slow."

"Drugging me on the first day I meet you is slow?"

"You can't have it all your way city rat."

"What did you just call me moose brain?"

"See, you like me."

"No, I should deck you."

"You won't," I felt his lips at the corner of my mouth, "because if you do, your fantasy will end." His voice was a dangerous whisper, almost without emotion. My hands gripped the front of his shirt. I was trembling. My eyes were squeezed shut again and I heard his husky laugh. Oh dear God, this man.

"I'm going to kiss you, and you will enjoy it," the music shifted again and I opened my mouth to protest but it was quickly captured by his. I slammed my lips shut, clenching my teeth breathing heavily through my nose. My eyes were wide open watching him. His eyes were closed, concentrated. He was sure he was going to win. I wouldn't let him. I stood there, letting his tongue tease my lips, letting him nip and tug my lower one. I heard a rumbling from his chest and his gorgeous forehead wrinkled in frustration. I couldn't hold him off for long. He was beautiful. Dangerous, had my career balls in a vice, but beautiful.

He finally pulled away from me. I glared at him and I watched his confidence slip. Suddenly, right before me he blushed; rejection had cracked his dick-headed front. His eyes were telling me he was trying in his brain to rationalize what had just happened. He was confused, anger was definitely there, but there was a trace of a few emotions I knew well, hurt, loneliness, sadness. He wasn't looking at me, but rather around, anywhere but me.

"You, you don't have to sign that contract," He finally said in a quiet tone, "I'll draw you up a new one, and we can start over."

"Okay," I replied automatically. We were standing in the center of the dance floor. The lights flashed over the both of us and the song playing was so, hypnotic. I don't know what got into me. My heart pounded, my pulse raced. I grabbed his wrist and pulled him towards me and I slowly pushed a stray lock of hair out of his face. His eyes were wide, and scared? I let my hand tug out the ponytail holder keeping his hair back and I flicked it across the crowd.

"You want to know my secret?" I leaned towards him pulling him to me with a controlled force.

"Oui," he exhaled.

"Hustlers que vous me tourner sur," I pressed my lips against his and kissed deeply. I could feel him tense at not being in control. _Damn you, let me in, I'll sign if you show me you're not a monster,_ I pleaded in my head. I felt his hands on my arms tighten and then they wrapped around my neck and pulled me closer. His mouth opened slightly and I licked his bottom lip, nipping briefly. I could feel his fingers twisting through the back of my hair and I smirked, this guy wasn't as tough as he thought. I plunged my tongue into his warm mouth and started exploring, licking, pressing, against his own. Then it happened, I felt his grip tighten and his tongue lashed out at mine. We kissed faster, wilder, fighting for control. When he pulled me away he pulled by the back of my hair and I snarled at him. His eyes shifted back to the VIP area and I led the way. The young woman didn't even need a hint. She dropped the curtain and left. I was thrown down onto the couch again and he crawled over me kissing up my neck and finding my lips again.

I still had trace muscle from before rehab, so as he pulled my shirt off, my slightly darker tone, standing out in contrast with his pale hand, his look of surprise at a very finessed six pack was an ego boost.

"Like whatcha see?" I asked with a devilish grin mimicking his question from the dance floor.

"Tch, I'd like it if what I see is quiet," his mouth crashed on mine again. We continued like that, me shirtless, fighting for dominance on a beige leather couch in the middle of what I was sure now a private gay bar. I moaned as his teeth grazed my stomach and tongue teased behind my pant-line.

"I'll, I'll sign," I was trying to guide him lower, my hands on his head gently.

"You will?" His eyes snapped back up to mine.

"Yea…I will…" I let my thumb slide along his perfectly chiseled cheek bone.

"Good," he came back up and over me pushing me down with his intense gaze. I felt his finger hook in my mouth and I sucked slowly, letting my tongue swirl around it. The only reaction this brought to his face was his eyes widening.

"Such a Masochist, you know you want me to do horrible things to you," he took his finger back and used it to tease my nipple. I squirmed.

"No…I don't, but what was in that contract," I made a "holy shit" face.

"You'll love it," he whispered.

"Yea…but…" I pushed myself back into a sitting position and resting a hand on along his face, "How do you know what I like, Mathieu?"

At the sound of me saying his name, and pronouncing it properly, I saw the humanity within him. And what I saw was a scared, young man, who was just like me, and that was my answer. He leaned into my touch and covered my hand with his own, thinking.

"Because…we're alike…you and I."

"You're a Hustler for talent and sex," a sly smiled slid across my lips. His face became serious and he slammed my wrist next to my head along with pressing the other one down. He was strong, I couldn't move him…I struggled for a moment and quickly realized, this guy must be ripped under that shirt. I bucked my hips so he was caught off balance. I didn't try to get away but I did lean up to kiss him softly.

"I'm a Hustler for talent…" his bit down on my lower lip and I yelped like a kicked puppy. I could taste the blood and a thrill rushed through my veins.

"What are you for sex?" I waited in anticipation for the answer.

"Just a man, who knows what I want…now shut up…" he raised my hands above my head and I felt the snap and lock of metal. My head spun…cuffed…he meant _business_.

"And what if I don't," I challenged. I felt a knee in my crotch pressing down hard, I winced.

"You'll be punished." Before I could protest, he was kissing me again. Now that was a high I was going to get addicted to, and fast.

* * *

Hustlers que vous me tourner sur = Hustlers like you turn me on


	5. Lovin You is Easy

**4. Loving You is Easy**

I know you got that special something, oh baby  
I know you like to keep it hummin', oh baby  
'Cause boy lovin' you is so easy  
Oh, lovin' you is so easy, yeah yeah yeah yeah  
My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my, yeah yeah yeah  
Come on boy, give me that good lovin', oh baby  
Come on boy, keep the motor hummin, oh oh baby  
'Cause lovin' you is so easy, my, my, my, my  
Lovin' you is so easy  
Lovin' you is easy  
Boy, after the mornin' sunlight  
After the band has flown away  
Oh, we'll be thinkin' of you  
Yes, we'll be holdin' on boy  
Lovin' you is easy  
Lovin' you is easy  
Oh, I'm lovin', lovin', lovin', lovin', lovin', lovin', lovin', you  
Oh and it's easy  
Oh, I'm lovin', lovin', lovin', lovin', lovin', lovin', lovin', you  
And it's so easy

This was all happening so fast. In one moment I was in a club, talking and then dancing, teasing and then kissing, and then…I felt my breathing pick up as he slammed me against the car door. I had my shirt back on, but leaning against his red Viper, I knew it was a matter of time and place when it would be off again. My hands raked through his long hair and his lips twisted with mine, changing and moving in complete sync.

"Fuck, Mathieu," I moaned as I felt him pull away and the beeping of his car unlocking.

"Get in," he slipped into the driver's seat slamming the door. I rolled my eyes and got in on the other side. The cars expensive leather interior was black and silver. He rolled the window down and took out a cigarette, lighted it and inhaled. I had to admit, I wanted to be on the end of that filter right now. He shoved the pack in my face.

"Take one before you have a wet daydream about me sucking your dick," His eyes told me he was amused, but his tone sounded sarcastic. I couldn't read him that well. I didn't like it. I took one and lit it with the lighter shoved inside the pack. Pretty ghetto way to carry a lighter for a rich dude. I watched Toronto fly by us back to the building that held both his penthouse and the record company.

"If you want to go with me upstairs, you have to sign the contract. Now," He hands the pile of papers over to me with a pen, "And, have you ever been on the receiving end of anal sex?" I can see his critical stare. I flush. To be honest…never on the receiving end…I swallow hard and think. I have had anal sex…but I was giving. And only once. A long time ago. I shut my eyes quickly. With someone I couldn't think about.

"No." I said shortly letting out a nervous laugh, "But I've given."

"Doesn't count…not for what I need you for."

"Well thanks for making me feel used," I snort.

"…You are a Masochist…" He turned into a private parking garage and swiftly gets out. I follow him to the elevator. Oh dear Lord and baby Jesus. The elevator. I scratched my head.

"How many floors is this again?"

"Twenty six. It's a slow elevator," a smile was once again playing on his lips.

"Oh," was all I could muster. I decided to be the proactive one. As soon as the elevator door opened I shoved him in, pressed close and the button that said 'PH' and pressed against him kissing his neck. He was so damn strong for a wiry looking fucker. I hand to work to keep his arms pinned. I heard a light moan as my lips grazed over a small piece of raised skin. On closer look, it was a scar. I kissed it gently over and over again causing his hands to grip my waist and squirm every so often beneath me.

"Va te faire foutre, oh, merde…Alfred. Qu'est-ce que…" I heard his voice softer and breathless. It turned me on. The French words my mother hadn't taught me, but I knew anyway. I kissed lower, dragging his shirt collar over so I could gnaw his beautifully pale skin. A higher pitched sound came from him and it thrilled me. I heard the elevator door open and suddenly he shoved me off, walking by as if nothing had happened. I stared in shock at him. How could he just do that!?

"Nothing more until you sign," he stopped and turned waiting for me to enter his, what I would call; lair. I and walk in. I stop and stare. His place looks so much like mine. The cityscape up here is just as breathtaking as the one in his office. I can hear him stand beside me.

"Remind you of New York?"

"Yea, how'd you guess?" I looked over. He shrugged.

"I enjoy New York City."

"You've been?" I raise an eyebrow.

"Yea, I am a CEO and producer of a major label," he chuckles, "Now sign, or I'll draw up a new contract."

"Why, why do you have all that shit written in there? Like, all the conditions, like the one that says I can't touch you above the waist and below the shoulders is kinda weird."

His jaw flexes, "It's not weird, it's a condition I have that one must follow."

"Okay Mr. S," I roll my eyes.

"I hate it when you do that," his voice is harsh.

"Well I hate that you have just met me, and you want to make me your artist slash bitch already," I face him so I can stare him in the eyes. Those haunting eyes.

"It's all up to you…" He goes to the kitchen area of the open floor area and pulls out a bottle of very expensive red wine.

"I glare at the daunting list of "to do's and don'ts", not to mention, the conditions. I gulped. Was this guy a Sadist or a control freak? I growled, took the pen in my left hand and hesitated.

"Mathieu," I said gently. I heard him walk over to me as he slid a glass of wine towards me on the coffee table.

"Yes."

"Can I sign tomorrow?" I looked up at him with puppy eyes. His face twists in a scowl.

"Now why would you do that?"

"'Cause tonight, I mean we just met and…"

"Ugh, tell me you want to talk and get to know each other?" His sarcasm angers me.

"NO! I just, if you're gonna use me, at least…" I blush and look away, "At least ease me into this."

"So, you want too, you just," I look back up to his face and its surprisingly gentle, "Okay, come on," he grabs my hand and leads me to the bedroom.

"Wh-What are we doin'?" My heart rate increases as we step into the black and red room. I watch him turn on the stereo system and his eyes slide back to me. I watch him in the moonlight streaming through the large window. The curtains let the spot light in. There was no need to hide; no one could see us up here. A euphoric feeling came over me as I watched him move. It was untamed, wild, skittish, on edge, raw power, I wanted him.

"We're going to go slow," he motions for me to come over and I do without thinking. I'm in front of him, those beautiful, purple hazed eyes igniting a fire within me. He studies my face before reaching out and caressing my cheek. I close my eyes and lean into his touch. He's cold to my warmth. When I look back up at him, his eyes are full of confusion, reserve, and uncertainty. I did the same with both my hands using my thumbs to stroke his face.

"You are beautiful, Mathieu," I kiss him. It's a small, ghosting one, one that leaves me wanting oh-so-much more. His hands grab my face and pull me back. I open my eyes as he's kissing me and his are squeezed so tightly…did I say something wrong? When he reopens them, there is a haze to them.

"Alors vous etes," his voice is quieter and I draw him closer. We're forehead to forehead, in the dead of night, moon acting as our light, this man, this stranger, had me by my soul. How? And then…my spark burst. His lips clashed against mine, ever so gentle and I returned the care. He pulled my shirt off running his hands down my chest. I could see the difference in skin tone and my stomach lurched; it was perfect. I looked back up at him with a wild look. He smiled. For the first time, he smiled. It broke me.

"I want you," he whispered in that husky accent. I was high on him. I pushed him back on the bed crawling on top of him. My tongue in his mouth, his cool, soft lips enticing mine, ugh it drove me mad. His large hands spanning my chest and then his mouth disappeared and I felt teeth grazing my collarbone.

"Oh fuck, Mathieu," I twisted my hands in his long hair and held him there. I looked up at the ceiling breathing heavily as he traveled lower, down my chest, teasing my nipple with his tongue until he was sure I was mad, and my stomach.

"Al," his voice wrapped around my name like silk. I moaned as he licked and nipped my abdomen and then his lips found my hip bones. He pulled my pants down lower and bit. I squirmed beneath him. At my reaction he bit harder followed by the soft flicking of his tongue as if to sooth the sting of the bite.

"S'il vous plait, Mathieu, plus, plus, oh putain," I hear him come back up to grace my lips again.

"You speak French, very well, mon ami," he bit my bottom lip and I whimpered.

"Mathieu…"

"I know, believe me I know," he pulls my pants down and I closed my eyes in bliss. This man…I sit up suddenly and meet him in a kiss. I can't help myself. I push him down tearing at his shirt. I can hear him protest but I kiss his neck and palm his half erection through his pants and I hear his gasp.

"Let me, please," I whisper my eyes thick with wanting.

"O-okay," he sinks a little away from me but lets me take his shirt off. Pure, pale skin reflects in the light of the moon. I marvel at his lean yet muscular figure. A bandage is covering a shoulder and around his chest. I don't ask. I won't take it off. I look up at him.

"I'm not going to go farther than that, alright?" I run a hand down his face, "You'll tell me when you're ready."

His eyes go wide. I feel as though I had chipped a small piece of his wall away. Trust. It was essential.

"Alfred, I," he looked away, "Thanks."

"Mathieu," I turn him back to meet him in a kiss and let my hands explore him. I ignore what the contract said about touch. I needed to touch him. I had to. I tugged his pants loose and then down leaning down to mouth him through his boxers.

"Ah…marde….Alfred…yes…" I can feel his confidence come back at being in control. I slip his erection through the hole in his boxers and licks his tip. I've never done this. Not with a guy. I look at his length in my hand. That is supposed to fit there? My ass tenses but, I can't help but wonder, how it will feel. I continue licking and sucking until I feel his fingers in my hair guiding me over him.

"Take it, you know you want to, Al, swallow me whole," his voice is sadistic and I do what he says. I hear him moan in surprise as I take him as far as I can without choking. Did I say choking? He pushes my head down farther and I gag a little.

"Relax for me," his voice has become hushed.

I do what he says and his hips start bucking gently. I bob my head with him, trying to please him. Why do I want too? Uhhh great, so I am what he calls me. For fucks sake.

"Stop, Al, stop," his voice is breathless and I hear his confidence slip as does his grip. He's gonna cum, I think. A twisted thought comes over me. If I make him finish, maybe we can wait to do it tomorrow night. I suck harder. I'm not neat about it. I lick and moan when he's deep so that vibrations go through him.

"Al, non, please, oh God," I look up briefly and he narrows his eyes. He is panting and a small trace of sweat has created a sheen over his pale body, "I know what you're doing, and it won't do you any good."

"Yes it will," I take him deep again bringing a shout from his lips and my heart flies.

"Al, Al, I'm gonna cum, so, you don't have to…shit..AL, I said I'm going to cum, if you don't want to swallow…" Every time he tries to warn me, I move faster, harder, deeper.

His body has slumped down to the point he's flat on his back and my hand travels to his and laces my fingers with his. I hesitate once to say; "Cum in my mouth Mathieu," before getting back to it.

"Fuck me," it's a whisper, and then I hear his breathing increase at a steady climax, until-

"Shit, oh fuck, Al, Al, I'm cuming, Alfred, fucking Jones, ahhh, fuck, deeper, yes."

His seed feels my mouth and I swallow it down as quickly as I can. I lick the remainder off of him and then make my way back up by kissing every inch. His hands greet my face and lift them to his. Those eyes are shining with something, I can't tell.

"Fuck you're good at giving head."

"That was my first time," his face makes me laugh.

"Are you kidding me," he looks to the side grumbling, "Ass hat."

"Not kidding, Mathieu," I make him look at me again. I can see the bags under his eyes now. He was lacking in sleep.

"What?" He glares back at me.

"Can I stay tonight?"

"I…" he shuts his mouth as I wrap an arm around his shoulder and pull him closer to me pressing my luck. I know I'm warmer than him, and his temperature was falling at a steady rate from the lack of physical exertion.

"Please?"

"Fine, just text your manager, so he doesn't think I killed you," he's all mumbles now, but as I text Oliver quickly I feel him lean into me. I look down and put my cell up. He's already halfway out, on my chest, one leg thrown over mine. I brush his hair back and he groans and leans into my hand. I start scratching his head and stroking his hair. Almost on cue, I hear a soft snore. I smile.

"You're not so big and rough are ya Mattie," I trace his face fighting a yawn, "My Mat." Sleep finds me as I hold him in my arms. For the first time in years, I sleep sound.


End file.
